Bittersweet Memories
by schaefy
Summary: Her superhero's gone, but how will she go on? It's a tough time of Stephanie Plum and the merry men, and only by supporting each other can they make it through. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hi everybody

_Hi,_

_I decided to resubmit this today, with a second chapter added. I'm considering making this into a full length story (it was originally meant to be a oneshot). It's very angsty so be warned, but for once I really like the way it has turned out, especially the second chapter. Enjoy and please please please review—I love to know what you think._

_Schaefy_

_PS: Course Language, Violence, Adult Themes._

0 0 0

_Stephanie_

I quickly ducked behind a metal government-issued desk as the floor on which I had been crouching seconds before ripped itself apart as angry bullets forced themselves into it. They bit into everything – the concrete floor, the thin corrugated iron walls and ceiling and the desk I was hiding under.

I decided to peek around the corner of the desk to see where he was. Bad idea. I dived for the next desk as the last exploded, shrapnel shooting everywhere. Fuck! My leg had caught some – blood quickly dribbling down my calf from the dozen or so deep cuts in my leg. I gritted my teeth and kept going forward, ducking quickly behind the next three desks. The sounds of shots firing were now aimed at where I had been seconds before, at least seven metres to my right. I kept ignoring my drenched leg and pulled my gun from its black leather holster and held it loosely in my hand ready to fire. I had one chance at this. I was a good shot now, but if I missed now they would find out where I was. And it would be too late. I took a deep breath and relaxed against the metal desk again, eyes closed. Ok. I had to do it now. Slowly and quietly I moved to the side of the desk and carefully looked around for him. He was a good fifty metres away, an Uzi ripping off rounds in one hand and a lethal looking grenade launcher on the other shoulder. How on earth had I got into this?

I felt a presence beside me and quickly pulled back into the relative safety of the desk. Ranger was crouching beside me, eyes cold and hard, his face full of concentration.

"Men are in place. They are going to shoot in ten seconds. We run for it then. It's risky, so go like stink. I'll cover you."

I nodded, no fear in my heart. I had been in enough situations like this to know how to cut off my emotions. I was now a fully qualified Rangeman Employee – and this FTA, Ryan Pierce, was Ranger's. But now was not the time to go through this. Ranger began to count under his breath, his eyes fixed on the little he could see of Pierce from the other side of the desk.

"5…4…3…2…1…Go."

A mass of gunfire erupted not far off, echoing around the walls of the warehouse. Then in the pause, Ranger yanked me to my feet and we began to sprint from our hiding place toward an open set of double doors twenty metres away. There was no cover from any angle. Then, as we reached halfway, more gunshots. The short bursts of an Uzi. My heart faltered and emotions rushed in. Had they hit Pierce? Time seemed to slow as I ran toward the exit, Ranger pounding behind me. My injured leg hit the ground, then my other leg, as I looked up briefly. My breath caught in my throat. A spray of bullets were speeding towards us in suspended animation, more following behind. I heard Ranger grunt as he pushed me to the ground. Then in one huge effort, he dived in front of me, his body fully extended. I stopped breathing. The bullets had found their mark. He was falling through the air still, blood spattering everywhere, scarlet colour shooting in all directions. It was then I realised. The only reason I was not dead… was because Ranger had leapt in front of me. He had taken the bullets that were meant for me. My chest was still as I watched him fall to the ground, limp, as he hit the concrete floor with a sickening crack. I hit the ground too, my whole body limp with shock, unable to react. I did nothing to break my fall, just slid along the ground and stopped on the hard concrete surface, dust floating around me. For what seemed like eternity I lay there unmoving as he was, his blood spattering my clothes. I was oblivious to the gunshots, to the yells and shouts and cries of pain. My mind spun with the revelation. It hadn't happened. No. He wasn't… He was Batman. Batman was infallible... Batman wasn't… He wasn't… dead?

I lay there, my scratched cheek against the concrete, on my side. Slowly, my hand moved to grip his shoulder, feeling the wetness of blood in his jacket. I tried to pull him back to me, to pull him back to life to no avail. Then strong hands encircled me, lifting me effortlessly.

"Keep holding him" Tank said into my ear.

I dug my fingers into the soft bloody cloth of his jacket, dragging him behind us as Tank ran through the door. The dark car park was lit with the flashing lights of EMT's, Police and Rangeman vehicles.

Tank gently put me down, me still gripping Ranger's jacket. He was on his stomach, and I gently pulled his wet shoulder until he lurched onto his back, a dead weight. Time slowed again as I saw what had happened. Blood was gushing from at least a dozen rounds in his chest and stomach as well as various other shrapnel wounds on his face. I softly wiped a trickle of blood from a cut to his cheek as I looked on in numb horror. His strong arms were limp and motionless as I placed a light hand on his chest. It was still rising and falling shallowly, each breath smaller and more laboured than the last. His face had relaxed from its last expression of agony, now smooth and untroubled. His breaths were barely audible now, as blood began to trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

His exhausted body took one last, rattling breath and fell still. His heart was at rest, the blood falling still in his veins as his eyelids flickered toward me. A slight smile curved his lips as his eyes became blank, and empty.

I just sat beside him, my hand gripping his limp one. Sobs racked my body, tears stinging against the many cuts on my face. I had caused this. I had done it. It was my fault. If I hadn't… If I hadn't… If I hadn't what? What could I have done? I saw only him, numb to everything else as paramedics clustered around us and began trying to resuscitate him. The strong arms pulled my away from Ranger again, tucking me into Tank's chest as he held me close. I lay there, curled into him, my breathing erratic and uneven, my eyes staring unseeing as Ranger's.

He was gone.

0 0 0

My eyes snapped open as I sat bolt upright in bed, my breathing shallow and fast, heart beating quickly. It was a dream. It was a dream. No, It was _the_ dream. I sank back onto my pillows and stared at the full moon surrounded by inky black sky through the gap in the curtains. The stars shone brightly down on me, winking and flickering unconcernedly.

"_Star light, Star bright, _

_First star I see tonight,_

_I wish I may,_

_I wish I might_

_Have this wish I wish tonight."_

I uttered the words whisper soft into the empty bedroom my eyes tracking the specks of light in the dark sky. It hadn't been a dream. He had really gone. Because of me. I dreamt about it every night, always the same.

I felt so alone in the world. He had been the only person who understood me. Who _trusted_ me. This was what I treasured most now. He was the one person in my entire life who had had faith in me. He had never told me I couldn't do something I wanted, only helped me when I needed it. He had picked me up when I had fallen, and given me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it. He had held me and protected me, laughed with me and cried with me. On the inside at least. He had loved me. The kind of love that lasts forever. Unconditional.

But we had left it too late. We had stalled too long. And life stole him from the world, before we had had the inevitable conversation.

I pulled my doona up to my chin and hugged my pillow to my chest. A perfectly round tear falling onto it, quickly soaking into the soft fabric. Another trickled down my cheek, as lonely as I felt. The stars continued to shine to me through the night as my tears fell onto my pillow, my heart full of depressing emotion. I sat up again in bed, and leaned my head against the window.

"_Star light, Star bright,_

_First star I see tonight._

_If you could_

_And if you'd like,_

_Please bring him back to me tonight."_

My breath fogged the window as I whispered the words to the empty world. I stared at the heaven's, wondering where he was now. And as I stared at the open space, the endless expanse of nothing, I realised just how alone I was. A tiny, insignificant figure, caught up in the tide of life. Alone, and friendless in the world.


	2. Chapter 2

One Month Later

_Stephanie_

_A Few Minutes After…_

I was curled into Tanks chest, my chest shuddering with uneven, jerky breaths. I was in shock. It had all happened so fast, random images were flashing through my mind… Ranger bending over the monitors of the control room, Ranger's beautiful smile as he looked at the flattened Porsche and the Garbage Truck on top of it, Ranger at the Gun Range at Rangeman… that intense look of determination in his eye as he told me to run for my life out of the Warehouse. The determination, the grit which had got him through so many impossible situations throughout his Rangers career, where only that kind of spirit and force of Will could help you survive. But for once, it hadn't worked. He had jumped in front of me; he had taken the bullets which were meant for me. He had saved my life by putting his own in danger for the second time in as many years. I would never forget what he did for Julie and I when Scrog was holding us hostage. Ranger and I never spoke of it, but the bonds of friendship and something deeper were stronger than ever after the incident. He had proved he was willing to die to save me, and he very nearly had. But now he was gone. Forever, he was just…gone. Unreachable.

Tank was hugging me to him, his eyes dry also, tears replaced by something so much worse. Emptiness, so complete it was even worse than the blank stares Ranger used to give me. Used to. Already, he was so out of reach I felt myself panicking. I needed Ranger, I needed him, I needed everything about him. I couldn't just leave them to take him away, he wasn't dead, I refused to believe it. I couldn't let them take him away, he was fine. I squeezed Tank gently around the neck and he lowered me to the ground. There was a large crowd gathering around the scene as the Police cordoned off the area and more and more shiny black vehicles began screeching dangerously into the car park, their owner's feet pounding the pavement even before the car had stopped. There was a growing army of bulky, black clad figures clustered not far off from the cluster of paramedics and policemen around Ranger's body. No, just Ranger. He wasn't dead, it wasn't just his body. I refused to let him be dead. He was still living, he was still alive. If I believed hard enough he couldn't be dead. Could he?

I could see Lester standing at the edge of the crowd, white-faced and shocked, his entire body tense and rigid, facing the little group of paramedics around his friend. As I watched, Bobby put a hand on his shoulder, his face hard and full of a terrible grief of someone who has just lost a brother. Lester turned and they were hugging each other, each so buried in their sorrow and grief that it did not matter what anybody else was doing. Tank walked over and they put arms over each others shoulders, forming a tight circle of those who were closest to Ranger. Of those who suffered the most. More and more of the Merry Men joined them, arms over each others shoulders, more than one face fighting back tears threatening to fall. The circle had grown to accommodate the whole of Rangeman, the men I loved so much joined together in their grief for the loss of their Boss, Leader, Friend and Brother. Tank and Lester who were standing next to each other looked at each other, then at me, standing lost and shocked in the middle of the car park, faceless meaningless people pushing past all around me. They beckoned to me, breaking the huge circle of black so I could join them. Without conscious thought I was walking towards them, the only thought in my head was how much I needed their support at that moment. About how much they needed mine. As I reached them Tank and Lester put their arms over my shoulders and gave me a gentle squeeze of support.

I looked up, to the other faces of the other Merry Men, many hunched over themselves, great shoulders shuddering with the effort of keeping the grief, and the tears inside. Faces were screwed up in pain, hands clenched on the shoulders of their friends and colleagues. Of their brothers. It was as if a piece of each of our hearts had been torn away in the moment of clarity. The moment we knew he was dead, the moment we knew he was gone. The moment we knew he was not coming back. My cut legs were shaking with the effort of holding me upright but Tank and Lester simply took my weight from my legs and held me in the circle. They took the weight of each others pain and bore it together, their combined strength helping them through it. Lester's face turned to look me in the eye as my knees buckled. His face was empty of everything but the most devastating grief and hollowness that I had ever seen. His eyes were dull, void of expression, shining with unshed tears as he stared straight into my soul. Finally, it hit me. I had known it before, but I hadn't fully appreciated what it meant.

Ranger was dead.

There would be no more secret break-ins into my apartment at night, not stolen kisses behind the Bond's Office, no more Batman to help me out of a fix. No Carlos to hold me as I cried, to support my until I was ready to be independent again, to love me as no one else did. He was so gone. So distant, almost as if he was as distant as the moon to me now. A memory. A broken body discarded and left to the Earth as he moved on. To where I didn't know. A hollowness I cannot even describe enveloped me, causing me to stagger again as the force of the emotion and grief hit me. Lester caught me again, his arm gripping my back holding me upright. As I stared back into his eyes, I saw the thoughts I had just had travelling through the invisible link between us. His eyes widened slightly, with horror. Then time seemed to slow down, the frenzied grief we had been feeling seemed to slow and stop in its' tracks. The softest tear fell from his long lashes onto his cheek, splashing down the contours of his cheek before trailing down his jaw line and neck. The tear pierced my heart like nothing had as I looked at him, the pure misery and desolation of one of my closest friends biting at my tender heart. I looked up to Tank on my other side, and saw a small tear falling quietly onto his cheek too, all his grief and sorrow held in that single sphere.

Something inside me broke.

My shoulders shook and my face clenched, the tears I had been too shocked to allow burst forth as my friends and I grieved for our loss, our hearts one in our misery and horror. Other men were crying now, a small tear falling onto other cheeks, other friends uniting in their pain. Tank looked up to the other faces in the circle, the single tear streak standing proud on his face, his expression clenched in his pain. As he looked around at them, the men started turning their faces to him, their expressions lost in their internal agony. Every man was now looking at Tank, who took a deep breath, and addressed the silent tear streaked faces.

"We've lost him. We've lost our Boss, leader, friend and Brother. Each of us knew him, each of us knew how much he meant to us, his friends and Rangeman, and how much of a difference he has made in the world. He was a man of steel, and a friend to be proud of. He worked hard to be where he was and he earned good thing life gave him ten times over. I'm a man of few words, but remember this. Carlos was a good man. The finest. Never forget him. If he lives on in our hearts and minds he will never truly leave us."

Tank closed his mouth and looked around at the solemn faces around him, no longer frenzied with grief, as the whole truth caught up with them. It is so hard to watch your closest friends in such pain, to experience it yourself. It twisted in my heart as I looked around at them all, reflecting everything I felt in my heart.

The circle of men bent their heads to look at the ground, one by one, drawing on the support and friendship of their friends around them. Tank's booming voice spoke quietly again to the bowed circle, his words soothing the rough sea of emotion inside their hearts.

"He will be remembered."

Mutters ran through the circle, repeating the phrase with such finality and determination fresh tears threatened to fall onto my cheeks. Arms tightened around shoulders, faces clenched, fists tensed. Yet the tears fell. The pain tore. And Ranger still lay there; lifeless, in the middle of the circle, his body broken beyond survival.


	3. Chapter 3

Tank

_Tank_

_Later that Afternoon…_

I sighed, gripping Lester's shoulder as we watched the black body bag being hoisted into the ambulance, the doors slamming behind it. _My Boss._ _My friend. My brother._ _Carlos._ Normally, I was used to this sort of thing— Carlos got shot at on average five times a year. But this time, there was no way he was coming out of it. After the first five shots had hit their mark I knew that, but I still held on for hope. But now... Carlos was lying in there in the truck, his chest still for the first time since his first breath as a newborn baby. The blood stood still in his veins, his face calm and untroubled. So deeply asleep no one could wake him, no matter how hard they tried.

The truck rolled slowly out of the lot, merging into the oncoming traffic. I watched until the flashing red lights were blurred by the distanced, I waited until the sirens had finally become inaudible, and until the truck itself was lost from sight.

_He's gone. Forever._ I thought. I heard Lester's strangled gasp and his hand clenched on my shoulder, fighting the loss of his brother. I gripped his shoulder back as I stared at the place where the truck had disappeared; dry eyed. I was past tears now. I was numb. My soul was numb, only my body functioning.

With a great effort, I turned away from the road— the place I saw him for the last time. I let go of him, let go of his soul. Let go of my brother. My brother Carlos. He was gone now—and I had to accept it, no matter how much I didn't want to. I knew from experience that the more you fight the loss, the grief, the more it hurts inside. The longer it takes to accept it. Lester looked at the road a moment longer, and turned away as well. His breaths heaved and shuddered but his face was set. We were going to get through this. Suddenly, a thought struck my heart, like cold ice sliding down my back. I turned to Lester, running a hand over my face as I did so.

"Les, we have to tell Mama. She doesn't know yet." I saw Lester's eyes widen slightly, his mouth open in surprise. It had only been an hour since it happened, but to us, it seemed a lifetime. How could anyone not know? A look crossed Lester's face, which said everything I was feeling. Mama was going to be… devastated. The whole family would be. They loved Carlos, and we were a close-knit family, no matter if we were related by blood or adoption. I had been adopted into the family when I was three years old by Mama and Papa, and Lester had arrived shortly after that. His mother had lived in the neighbourhood most of Mama's life and they had been close friends, till the day she died. So naturally Lester had been left to Mama's care since he had no living or capable relatives. And now we had to tell a woman her son was dead. Pain bit at my insides as I pictured the sadness Mama was going to feel. How I would have to cause it. But I pulled out my cell and dialled the number I knew so well, regardless of the distress I knew I was going to create.

"Ola. Manoso Residence."

"Ola Mama."

"Thomas! It's been too long, why haven't you been over to see me lately? It's very lonely. And Carlos and Lester too, you boys haven't been to a family dinner in weeks. You must come next weekend, no excuses. And make sure Carlos brings that Stephanie we keep hearing about, I would like to meet her." Mama said, her tone sounding as if she was still speaking to the three year old boy she adopted so long ago.

"Mama, it's about Carlos. I have some bad news." My voice cracked at the end of the sentence, and Lester gripped my shoulder as it began to shudder. Mama went quiet as soon as she heard the tone of my voice.

"Hijo? Hijo, what happened? Is Carlos alright? Is he hurt? Or Lester?"

"Mama, Carlos was… he was shot. Seven rounds to the chest. He… He died at the scene." I felt a great wave of guilt as I listened for any reaction on the other end. There was silence. Then a small strangled sob.

"Hijo. Oh Hijo!" Then she broke down, sobbing and crying into the phone. I heard other voices in the background, questioning Mama, comforting her. No doubt my Aunts and cousins had heard the sobbing. I heard the phone being taken from Mama and a new voice came onto the line.

"Thomas? Thomas, what's happened? What's made Mama so upset?" My Aunt Tia. I sighed slightly, resigning myself to telling the rest of the family.

"We were looking for a skip this afternoon and things got nasty. Bullets flying everywhere. Carlos was shot; he took the bullets for a friend. He didn't make it."

Silence. A small sniff. Then Tia addressed the family, now hushed, awaiting the bad news.

"Carlos was shot this afternoon. He… he didn't make it."

I heard the gasps of shock, the first sobs. I could almost see the looks of horror and denial on their faces.

My Aunt Tia was always the strong one.

A few minutes later I hung up the phone, having promised Tia that Bobby, Lester and I would come over as soon as we could to tell them what happened. I clipped my cell back onto my belt and surveyed the scene for the last time. The car park was fairly large; previously having covered in Ambulance's and Police cars and their occupants. There were crowds of passers-by still crowded around the police tape stretching the borders of the car park trying to see what had happened. The paramedics who had been here had left mostly; having stitched up more than a few bullet wounds, shrapnel wounds, and burns from the grenade launcher Pierce had been firing everywhere. All of the Merry Men had left to congregate at Rangeman, only Bobby, Lester, Steph and I left on the scene. Lester was standing—surprisingly on his own, at the large opened roller door to the Warehouse, which looked like a war zone. There were bullets embedded everywhere, sprays having penetrated the corrugated iron walls and concrete floor. Whole sections of the floors and walls had been blown out by the grenade launcher, the metal desks lying on their sides covered in ash, dust and glass from the broken windows. There was a bloody trail where Ranger had been dragged to safety by Steph and another where Pierce been standing. When Ranger had been shot, every Rangeman on the scene had known it. Originally they had been shooting to disable, but in that second, everything changed. Pierce had threatened their Boss and Leader, and he had to pay. A total for 34 bullets had been found in his body, 18 rounds to the chest and another 12 to the stomach. One to the arm, knee and two to one of his thighs. Needless to say, Ranger had always emphasised gun use. It was compulsory for Employees to attend a Gun workshop each month where they were introduced to the new legal and illegal guns, learned to assemble and dissemble them, revised gun safety and practised at a range. Guess that and the compulsory hour of shooting per week we had to spend in the Rangeman gun range had paid off. There had only been four men shooting at Pierce, and 34 bullets had hit the mark.

Not bad.

There was one last ambulance on the scene, Steph lying on the gurney having the deep cuts in her leg stitched. She had fainted half an hour ago the combined shock and blood loss from the cuts and a bullet which had grazed the way along her stomach as Ranger had pushed her down. We hadn't realised how deep it had actually gone until she had lost consciousness even as we held her. The blood had started to soak through the sweatshirt I had given her to wear. The medic spoke to her for a moment, looking questioningly at her. Steph nodded numbly and gingerly slid off the gurney, testing her weight on the stitches for a second. She thanked the medic and her gaze met mine for a second. Nothing but her eyes stared back at me. Her mind had shut down to prevent the emotional damage. She was just a body at the moment. Steph had gone somewhere deep inside; to hide until the pain had gone away. She really was the Queen of Denial; but I knew I was doing the same as her but in a different way, thrusting the pain away somewhere inside me to face later.

To face when I was alone.

I nudged Bobby who had joined me while I was on the phone to Tia, and we walked over the tarmac to Steph, who had limped over to Lester and was leaning against his chest, his arm around her shoulder. The light was beginning to fade, strains of orange and yellow splashed across the scattered clouds low in the sky. The last rays of the orange sun illuminated the pair of them standing in the huge doorway, just observing the scene. It was almost hypnotising. I've found this with War Zones all over the world. The destruction and the pain instead of forcing you to look away, is spellbinding. The horrors which man commits against himself take more than a glance to be able to believe. To _comprehend_.

As I drew level with the doorway I joined them, dropping an arm over Steph's shoulder and staring out into the wreckage of the Warehouse. Bullets, empty ammo magazines and discarded grenade pins littered the floor, mixing with the debris from the explosions and bullets which had been so thick in the air it had been hard to breathe. There were police evidence markers still standing on the floor, the guns and some of the bullets and casings having been also removed as evidence. We all stared at the wreckage with empty expressions, emotionally exhausted from the last twelve hours events. We had been searching around the clock for Pierce before we found him, and had gone after him as soon as we had Intel. We had discovered this was supposed to be the exchange of an illegal weapons deal, which Pierce was heading, explaining the less than legal grenade launcher. That had been at ten' o'clock this morning. The recon team had wired the building with cameras and mikes and had all been in place when he had arrived at noon. He in turn had arrived an hour before the deal was supposed to go down, and we had opted to wait for proof of it before going in for the capture. It was risky, especially due to the content of the deal, but Ranger and I had agreed the Pierce was a dangerous fucker, and he needed to be put away for as long as possible. Proof of these charges could be the difference between parole in thirty years, and parole in forty years. When the Buyer and his men had arrived half an hour late, things had started to spin out of control. There were seven of them, making a total headcount of thirteen men inside the building. Way too high for a simple recon team with back up. They had had to wait for another four teams to arrive and get suited up in riot gear. While being preoccupied with that minor detail the Buyer's goons had started to scan the room for bugs, and had noticed one of the mikes.

Things started going very downhill from there. To keep a long story short, it had turned into a stand off plus hostage situation and it hadn't been pretty. We had eventually stormed the Warehouse and things had deteriorated into an all-out firefight. And Ranger had been shot and died.

And inside, I had died with him.

I sighed, and turned away from the scene.

"There is nothing let for us here except painful memories and regrets. We have to move on."

Steph sniffed and rubbed her face, still leaning against Lester for support, his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. Her clothes were covered in Rangers blood; smudges of it up her arms and face as well. I caught a flash of something as she dropped it into her pocket. It looked a little like… a bullet. Why would she have a bullet in her hand? She sighed slightly and turned, with the help of Lester, and looked me full in the eye.

"You're right. It's over."

Bobby took one last look and turned as well, slipping an arm under Steph's shoulder as well, taking some of her weight from Lester as they helped her walk slowly to the SUV, waiting to take us to Rangeman.

To take us home.

Stephanie

The SUV was quiet as Tank navigated through the early evening traffic, nobody speaking. It wasn't the normal focused silence which permeated the Rangeman SUV's though; this was thicker, each person wrapped in their own thoughts like a thick blanket, cutting them off from everyone else. I felt so isolated, staring out at the blood red sunset, so alone in the world. My friends were here, sitting next to me, but it was as if each moment that passed I was speeding farther away from them emotionally. Each second that passed, I was descending deeper into myself, insulating myself from the inevitable pain of the loss of my closest friend and… and what? What was the strange relationship between Ranger and I? Somewhere between close friends and lovers. I had only known him for a few years now and in that time we had become friends, lovers for one perfect night, and now this. Passed friends, a connection with something deeper… but not quite there either. We had never put a name to our relationship; we had been too concerned with dancing around each other, testing the limits of our relationship. Neither of us had had a long-term serious relationship with a partner and I guess now we were scared we would screw it up. Neither of us knew how to go about this kind of relationship—what if we had messed it up? We would have lost each other, lost the chance we had together forever. Now, with him gone, there was a large hole in my heart where he used to be, and the pain I felt made me realise how deep the connections between us had really stretched. I had loved him. The pain in my heart was too much for just a close friend. But he was gone now. The chance was gone. We had screwed it up anyway.

It was evening by the time we pulled into the Rangeman underground car park and my leg was aching. The paramedic had told me to get to hospital at the latest tomorrow to pick up some pain meds and a pair of crutches, as well as to get instructions about changing the bandages for my bullet wound. My eyes were itching with tiredness as Tank pulled into the park next to the elevator and turned off the engine. Everyone sat in silence for a second, preoccupied with their own thoughts. Tank rubbed his face exhaustedly and spoke into the silence.

"Get a shower, dinner, and sleep we'll meet tomorrow and decide what to do. Until then, relax. It's been a hard day."

Everyone half-nodded and opened their doors to get out. I struggled to open the door and was gingerly sliding down to the ground, trying not to tear my stitches when I felt a strong pair of arms pick me up and pull me to a hard, muscular chest. I smelt Lester's scent as he tucked my head into his neck and I melted into him, my eyes automatically drooping closed. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and a strong pair of arms was all I needed at the moment. I must have fallen asleep somewhere between the SUV and the elevator because next thing I knew I was being laid on Rangers bed by Lester who was speaking to me softly.

"Steph. Steph? You need to get all this blood off you Beautiful. You need help in the shower?"

My mind was still half fogged by sleep and exhaustion, but I could tell Lester was nothing but a gentleman tonight. I nodded; eyes still closed, and began blindly reaching for my bootlaces. Lester gently took over, removing my bloodstained boots and filthy socks.

"I'm just going to get plastic bags to cover the bandages ok? I'll be back in one moment." I opened my eyes groggily to look at him. His eyes were looking worriedly down at me, softness in his expression I had never seen before. He cared. I tried to smile a little and Lester smiled back. It was a hollow expression, but the message was there. It was ok; he was going to take care of me. He left the room swiftly and I was alone, for the first time since it happened. My brain was still at half speed as I looked around Ranger's empty bedroom. Ranger. Ranger's bedroom. Empty of him forever now. I could still smell the distinctly Ranger scent on his pillow, a mixture of Bulgari and Carlos. I breathed it in, my hand unconsciously reaching for my pocket. I pulled out a small object I had taken from the Warehouse. It was a bullet. One of the bullets that had sprayed around us as we dove to the ground and Ranger stepped in front of Death's hand and took the blow. I curled up even tighter, twisting the bullet between my fingers. I felt tears well up in my eyes, but blinked them away. I was numb. I could feel nothing. Lester walked quietly through the door holding a few plastic bags and a roll of masking tape. I clenched the bullet in my fist, hiding it from view. I wasn't ready to share it with anybody. They might force me to let it go. But I needed it right now, I needed… I needed what it reminded me of. I needed Carlos.

Lester gently removed my shirt and cargos, leaving my underwear and bra on, and covered the stitches with the plastic and taped around the border to make it waterproof, proceeding to do the same with my bullet wound. He carried me to the bathroom and sat me on the toilet as he stripped off his shirt, boots, socks and three holsters and guns. He took out a few bits and pieces from his pockets, his cell, and a set of keys, a watch and a wallet and picked me up again, nothing but his dog tags on his bare chest. I was beginning to struggle to stay conscious now, my mind becoming increasingly fuzzy and unfocused. I concentrated on clenching the bullet in my fist as Lester gently placed me under the warm jets of the shower, sitting me against the ledge, which held Ranger's shampoo and shower gel. I faded in and out of conscious thought as he softly washed my hair and face, trying to get as much of the dried blood off as possible. I held onto Lester's firm shoulders in an effort to stay semi-standing, the warm water making me sleepier than ever. The scent of Bulgari permeated the shower as Lester began to wash my torso, and I felt the tears that had come to my eyes before well up again. I sniffed and wiped my eye with the hand holding the bullet. Suddenly I felt Lester's hands freeze. He had seen the bullet. His eyes looked concernedly down at me, slightly questioning as his hands began to rub gently up and down my back comfortingly.

"Beautiful...? Beautiful, what's that?" he asked gently. He wasn't forcing the issue like Joe would have; he was just concerned for a friend. I sighed slightly as I felt my mind unfocus again, the edges of my consciousness growing fuzzy and dark. I leaned my head against his chest, and my knees buckled as I lost control.

"It's the bullet. It's the bullet… that killed him."

I looked him full in the face for the first time, tears spilling down my face, mingling with the warm jets of water and steam swirling around us. I felt Lester's strong arms encircle me and pull me close, taking my weight as I lost control. I was sobbing uncontrollably into his chest, sobbing for the hurt I felt, sobbing for the love that Carlos and I had shared, sobbing for the chances we had missed, sobbing because he wasn't here to hold me. I heard Lester's mutter of "Oh Beautiful…" the pain palpable in his voice as well.

I just let go. I cried and cried, the tears running quickly down my face and dropping on Lester's chest. He tucked me close, muttering Spanish in my ear as Carlos used to, as I cried and cried for the friend I had lost. For the love I had lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Stephanie

_Stephanie_

I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning. Exhausted beyond belief but unable to settle to anything more than a doze. Flashes of memory kept playing across my semi conscious mind, Ranger as he walked into the coffee shop where we first met, Ranger as he stood grimly over the monitors watching a particularly prickly takedown, Ranger as he looked down into my eyes for the final time. The love and desperation and refusal to accept the fact that one of us may not make it out as the bullets sprayed around us and grenades seemed to explode anywhere and everywhere.

I would fall into an exhausted doze only to be woken within a few minutes, crying my eyes out into the pillow, Ranger's scent permeating the air around me. I would dry my eyes and curl myself tightly and clutching a pillow to my chest, breaths shuddering as my mind shut down. Then the loneliness would hit even harder as I lay there and rocked, the utter isolation of my soul from his and the inevitability that we would never again meet on this earth. I would almost faint from exhaustion and emotion into sleep again. And then I would wake up.

I found myself at five am staring at the empty bed next to me where he should have been lying, not having more than two hours sleep that night. My eyes were all out of tears and my mind was numb. All I knew was the exhaustion. The utter defeat of my mind and body by the emotion and circumstances they had been assaulted with. After another half hour I was unable to lie there any longer, to resign myself to the hopelessness and blankness which had overtaken my mind. I pulled myself up from the bed, slightly dizzy as my blood pressure fell, and went to take care of business in the bathroom. Then I pulled on a pair of cargoes and a tank top. And one of Rangers sweatshirts. I nearly felt the tears return as the familiar material slid over my skin and his scent again engulfed me. But the strange defeatedness pushed it down again, and I was blank. A shell, operating on autopilot.

I pulled on a pair of thick socks and my unlaced CAT boots, and padded out to the kitchen for coffee. But as I reached the end of the hall, I saw the empty living room, and kitchen beside it. It was so… so silent and empty and without him. It was so desolate. So barren of ... anything. As if it had lost all its appeal and life when he died. Like me. I stared at the cold and silent apartment, leaning against the wall of the hallway. I knew I couldn't stay here any longer alone. It was too much of a reminder of what I had lost and I had gone through so much in the past 24 hours—every emotion anyone could ever think of had surged through me and I was tired. I was so tired.

A few seconds later I was huddled in the elevator; arms wrapped around my waist, chin to my chest. I had seen my face reflected in the bathroom mirror and it was haunting me, superimposed in my brain. A pale, lost and broken woman stared back at me, no will or determination in her expression. She had gone through so much that she was past physical death, pain and suffering. She had died inside. She had lost herself in the pain. In the loss.

I was still clutching the bullet from last night in my hand, unwilling to let it go. Unwilling to let him go. I felt the dizziness of exhaustion take over my mind again and I grabbed the railing in the elevator as I felt my knees began to buckle. I vaguely saw the doors of the elevator open, and people beyond, scattered across a room I couldn't get to focus. My vision was hazy and I seemed to have lost the ability to hear all sound. The new silence was oppressive and close, so empty and desolate without him that my whole world was bleached of colour. I swayed for a second; half-slumped on the railing as I struggled to stay upright. Before my knees gave way, and I sunk to the floor.

0 0 0

_Tank_

I had been at Mama's most of the night with Bobby and Lester, explaining what happened again and again to each member of the family. To my adopted brothers and brothers-in-law Diego, Santiago, Hernando and Nicolao. Then sisters and sisters-in-law Juana, Josefina, Rosario and Sofía. My aunts and uncles, cousins, second cousins. The multitude of young children being pacified by anxious family members. But by far the most painful experience had been seeing my Mama, Carlos' Mama, who was always strong and kept the rapidly extending family together and in one piece sitting in an armchair in the living room, staring blankly into space, a look of utter pleading disbelief on her face. In three quick strides I had crossed the room and pulled her into my arms as the tears fell from her eyes and her shoulders began to shudder. My family did emotion a lot, mostly loud discussion with a dozen other people over the screams, laughter and general noise of children at a family dinner. But this, this grief and pain was new to us. Hell, it was new to me. I had lost some of my closest friends during my years as a Ranger with Carlos. But we had always made it through. Carlos, Lester, Bobby and I had always made it through no matter what. We had had the will, the determination to run that little bit faster, travel that little bit further, and go a little bit longer because we wanted to be there for each other. We had been through countless seemingly impossible and unsalvageable situations. One or more of us had been captured and tortured, sometimes fatally injured or lost contact deep in enemy territory. But we always fought back for each other. We always had each other's backs, and that was what had made us the best. The Rangers.

Once I had arrived back at Rangeman at two am with Bobby and Lester I had begun to field and return some of the multitude of calls from seemingly anyone who had ever known Ranger. Hell, even the military called to give "our sincerest condolences for your loss. For our loss." Had I not been speaking to the Head of the US Military I would have scoffed at the words. Their "loss". They didn't care about the man behind Ranger. They only cared that he was their killing machine, and he didn't work anymore. As it was I merely gave a clipped reply. It was probably not an intelligent thing to piss of the Boss. Even if he was one of the few superiors above our Rangers Team.

The night had gone pretty much downhill from there. I visited the four employees which had had more serious injuries in hospital, assured by the doctors that each would recover fully, perhaps with physical therapy and at least a few weeks of rehabilitation time. I had merely nodded, tight lipped, and continued on. I knew that the men; Binkie, Mack, Smith and Tenna would never submit to such ridiculously extended recovery periods, and within a month, they'd all be back to active duty.

As I had exited the Hospital and crossed the car park, I had felt the beginnings of fatigue plague my body. My eyes were dry and heavy, and my body became restless as it always did as I got tired. I had filed it as insignificant and driven back to Rangeman, my mind full of thoughts and unable to settle into my "zone" as Steph called it. Memories flitted across my mind as the lights of passing cars and streetlamps blurred to a haze of mass colour, my mind wandering to places that I had long ago learned to leave be. There were too many painful memories that had lain dormant.

_I was back in the jungles of some unidentifiable place. The heat was oppressive in the mid-afternoon haze of sun, flies droning constantly around my ears and body. Sweat was running in rivulets down my skin, swiftly travelling down my neck and over my prominent collar cones, before skimming quickly down my breastbone and soaking into my shirt. I had been lying here for nine hours now, waiting patiently and quietly for a sign. Any sign. Of him. Far off in the distance I heard the monkeys screeching, small mammals rustling, and birds calling, one rising dominantly over the rest. I lay and listened for sometime to the serenity of the scene, wondering how anyone could commit the atrocities we had seen here. How could life have fallen so out of balance that men had to resort to these cruel means? We had been searching for three days now, only in contact for a few precious seconds per day as we looked for him. We had lost radio contact with him as he was deep in enemy territory on an Intel mission. He had dropped off the radar soon after. We had been at this for six months now and we were so close to the end of our mission. Each of the five team members left wished more than anything to be home now and out of this hellish place. Away from the sweat and the constant danger and the smell of death which overtook everything and smothered the beauty of the world. We wanted out. But he had disappeared on this last vital mission, and we had been faced with the biggest decision of the mission. We had never been divided on this one however; there was no need for debate. We couldn't just leave him. We had to get him back before we left. HQ had ordered us back but we refused. I knew that as Second-in-command of the team I would be in trouble for this, but somehow I didn't care. Nothing mattered but him._

_I wiped a trail of sweat before it dropped into my eye and listened hard for any sound. Nothing but the birds. I relaxed into the ground, exhausted, and listened to them, trying to decide which species they were. The loudest called again, a distinctive and unusual call, somehow familiar to me. Something stirred in my exhausted memory… The night before we had left for the mission. We had been sitting around a table with a couple of beers; all depressed at the impossibility of the task we had been set. Something had dragged me out of my reverie as I heard him speaking beside me, the general noise of the bar muted by the solid door behind which we were sitting._

"_It's like this. My father taught me when I was six years old…" The man beside me uttered a strange noise, almost exactly the same as the bird call I was hearing now. But this time it was more urgent, the pitch higher and the tone shriller. Could it be…? I dared myself to hope. I had never heard such a bird in the jungle, or anywhere else for that matter. What if it was him, what if it was…?_

_I heard something rustle fifty metres away and immediately melted further into the shadows of the undergrowth I was hiding in, making sure my gun was loaded and cocked. He may be being forced to lure us out._

_I uttered a small chirping sound not unlike those of other animals in the forest, sustaining the call for the number of seconds which the military reserved for SOS signals. There was a pause. Silence. The flies droned. The monkeys chattered. The sweat dripped down my body and still I waited._

_Then, closer this time, I heard the call again, sustained for exactly the same time. I chirped back to check if it was safe to reveal myself. A short reply came, and my heart relaxed and relief flooded my body. Before I had anytime to catch my breath he had slipped up beside me, noiseless even through the leaves and bushes. He looked terrible, his shirt in tatters revealing long, deep cuts along his back and chest. One eye was black and puffy and there were several bruises already flowering across his body. But he sent me a small smile, and I knew he was ok. He was relieved. Happy to be back. His hand found my shoulder and squeezed as I saw him sighing, his eyes fluttering shut with exhaustion._

_But it was ok. He was alive. Carlos was alive._

When my mind reawakened I was leaning on the wheel of my black SUV, my body aching and painful as if I had really just spent those six months in hell. My mind was going half speed, eyes closed, my ears just getting used to the multitude of sound surrounding me. Why was there so much noise? I was driving the SUV back to Rangeman after visiting the men. I was getting slightly irritated now, Why couldn't all these people shut up! My head had begun to pound heavily, pain shooting down my neck and back with every pound. Hang on. What the fuck is going on. I'm not injured. With a massive effort I cracked open one eye, trying to see what the hell was going on. I felt my mouth go slack in complete shock as my eye got used to the flashing strobe lights all around me, and the sound began to filter through to my brain. I was hanging upside down in my SUV, the roof crumpled like a tin can, airbag lying slack and punctured in front of me. Both the passenger and drivers had been shattered as the doors contracted and bent out of shape, glass sprayed all over the roof of the car. The blood had rushed to my head and I felt the strange discomfort that comes with it. I couldn't turn my head or move my arms, and pain was radiating off my back and neck. As my mind began to speed up I heard a voice breaking into my thoughts as I tried to take stock of the situation and the military training took over.

"Sir? Sir? Are you awake?"

I grunted, the sound reverberating in my head in my newly inverted position. My head was aching, my best friend had just died and I had no idea what the hell was happening.

"What happened?" I asked, stupidly. God, if I remembered this I would be forever embarrassed.

"Serious car accident, Sir. You fell asleep at the wheel."

My features fell slack as cold horror slid to the pit of my stomach. Asleep at the wheel? But there must have been dozens of cars around me?

Oh God.

What had I done?


	5. Chapter 5

Stephanie

_Stephanie_

I was lying in a large four-poster bed, beautiful white sheets covering my slim frame. White translucent drapes hung from the roof of the bed, tied back so I could see beyond them with gold tasselled rope. I could see that it was deepest night, the room was dark and a set of white French doors were standing open next to the bed. The same white drapes were rustling in the breeze coming through them, from the cool night sky visible through them. The midnight blue sky was filled with the brightest stars, the full moon shining down on the white marble balcony I could see through the doors. There was a figure there, leaning calmly against the barrier.

I knew it was him.

One foot was tucked behind the other, knee bent, leaning both his hands against the railing and staring into the velvety blanket of sky. Silently, I rose from the bed, the silky folds of my white nightdress rustling around me as I moved toward the doors. As I walked through them the cool breeze caught my loose curls as they framed my face, blowing them back behind my ears. There was a cold chill in the air, as cold as the marble I stole silently across. He was dressed in black as he always had, his long sleeves rolled up to mid forearms, hair loosely tied back. His face was calm, reflective as he stared out from the balcony, onto a large lake I had not noticed. The moonlight was reflected in the glassy surface, lighting the grassy hills surrounding it with a strange milky half glow. His dark eyes gently perused the countryside and the wide expanse, a slightly sad and regretful look marring his handsome features. The look in his eye told me so much more. He was so sad it had become ingrained in his soul, the misery and devastation taking over everything he did. It matched the look which had recently reached my eyes. The haunted look of those who have tasted true love, only to have it stolen away from underneath them.

The soft wind rustled across my skin again, causing my body to shiver slightly in the warm summer night, as I reached the marble railing next to him. I saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly as his downcast face saw my hands on the railing, mirroring his body. He looked up after a moment. His eyes were full of the sweetest pain, the torture that only lost love can bring. It was written over his expressive features, the slight softening of his jaw and brow, and the sadness around his eyes. This torture, this pain, was the worst he had ever gone through. She was next to him, she was near him. But only for a few short moments. Soon he would be dragged away from her, from the love of his life, knowing never again would he see her until her life was taken also. She had stolen his heart the moment he had seen her, and held it in her hand for the years he had known her. But they had left their chance too late. They had stalled too long. And fate had stolen their chance like a feather dancing away in the wind.

The pain in his features was mirrored in mine, as I saw him leaning against the cool marble, his body whole and unscathed from its final ordeal. Guilt washed over my body, that again he had sacrificed himself for me. That he had died to save me. How could he be gone, how could life be taken so quickly? How could such a fantastic chance, a beautiful chance be stolen so fast? Like a candle being snuffed out in the wind of fate. Why could I not have taken the bullets? It was far more painful to be the one left behind, to face the consequences and bear the pain of the loss. How could I go on without him? Sadness, loneliness and desperation surged into my heart as I felt it twist, the emotion peaking inside me. I stretched out a hand slowly toward him, a soft tear falling form my lashes as my strength broke. My fingers brushed his rough jaw, his eyes meeting mine, and expression of deepest loss etched into their depths. He was there, he was real. Yet how did I know he would be stolen away from me soon? This fleeting moment, this … stitch in time. It was not going to last forever. Fear flashed through me as I thought of what was coming, what was destined to happen. A small sob escaped my lips.

"I can't do this on my own Carlos, don't leave me! Please! Don't leave me like this, alone, don't ask me to do this without you, I need you!" Sobs choked my voice as tears began to pour down my cheeks, my chest heaving and shuddering as I pleaded with him. With fate.

His dark eyes stared straight into my soul for a moment, piercing my heart with his very gaze. Then I was in his arms, my head tucked into his neck, his hand stroking my hair, the other holding me comfortingly to him as he murmured quietly into my ear in Spanish. I cried and cried into his chest, for him, for my loneliness, for everything we had lost. I cried for what seemed like hours, but finally my tears slowed and I was able to take deep breaths, Carlos' hand rubbing comforting circles on my back. Finally, he gently turned my face toward him, his dark eyes staring deep into mine. They were strangely comforting, like he was in control, and that everything would be ok. I felt myself giving my soul to him as I had done so many times before, trusting him to catch me when I fell, to save us from fate.

"Mi Amor. Stephanie. You are the love of my life. I am a simple man, that which I love, I take care of. I would never leave you like this if I did not have complete and utter faith in you. I know you can do this. For yourself, and for me. I know you can get through it Babe. Besides, I will always be with you in your heart and mind. Don't doubt yourself; don't doubt that I will still care for you. I will be there, guiding you, and watching over you. I may not be there in the flesh, but as long as you love me, I will live on in your heart. And Amor, that's all that matters. _Te quiero con todo mi corazón __mi Amor, Voy a soñar contigo. Cuidate mucho. Eres la persona más maravillosa del mundo_."

(I love you with all my heart my love, I will be dreaming of you. Take good care of yourself. You are the most wonderful person in the world.)

He could almost hear the last moments of his life echoing in his head as he stared into those deep blue eyes. He did not regret his decision to die for her. Only the pain that his leaving caused her. He closed his eyes and buried his head in her hair, pulling her tightly against him, savouring their last lingering moments together. Once she felt she could possibly survive his death and go on without him, the moment would end. Reality would snatch her away from him, and Death would steal him from her. He clenched his eyes as he felt the ghosts of bullets forcing their way into his chest, the few flickering memories of his last moments flashing across his mind.

0 0 0

_Ranger_

_His Last Day_

"Rangeman, you're not going in there and that's final!"

I gave Tank a withering look, letting out the breath I didn't know I was holding. There were many times I both sought and valued Tank's opinion. This wasn't one of them. I went to open my mouth to argue back, but he cut me off before I had even decided what I was going to say.

"Christ Ranger, you've been a mission for three fucking months! When you came back you were so exhausted that you lost consciousness. You have three healing gunshot wounds already, you're covered in bruises and cuts and you're telling me you can handle a mass hostage situation! Fuck man, where do you get off! You usually lie low for at least a week or two before getting back into the field, and even then you only take the small stuff for a while. It's been four days man. Your body can't handle much more no matter what you think. There's only so far you can go without resting up man. So no, you're not allowed to come with us."

By the end his voice had receded to just under yelling volume, and he was using his "Christ man, get some sense" voice. I sighed. I knew everything was true. I wasn't ready to come back. My muscles were still aching with fatigue and even though I had slept for nearly 48 hours, and I still felt as though I hadn't slept in a week. If I went on this takedown I was not only putting myself in danger, but all the other guys that were relying on me.

Tank saw the defeat in my expression and he relaxed into his old self. He clapped my shoulder.

"Don't worry Rangeman, we got this one. You just stay here and rest up. We'll be back soon." He grabbed his riot helmet by the strap and left my office, calling out teams and instructions. I slumped into the chair behind my desk and listened listlessly as Tank chose Alpha, Beta and Gamma teams.

"Delta: Steph, Binkie, Hal and Bobby. You'll be…"

I sat up straight. Steph was going and I wasn't? As much as I disliked admitting it, but I still worried whenever she went out on big assignments, even though I had trained her myself. I never worried about any of the other guys. Why her?

A small voice in my head spoke into my ear. _Because you love her._ But I pushed it away. I wasn't ready for love. I didn't know how to love someone. What if I messed up? Then where would we be? We'd be going our separate ways, thinking of what could have been. I didn't want that to happen. Besides, who could love me? Me, who killed on a regular basis, was bought by the country to go on suicide missions year after year. Who could love someone who spent three or four months away every few years literally waiting to die in some god forsaken war zone. Stephanie was too good, too kind, too innocent for me. She could never love me back.

But something in me still pushed me to go with them. I banged my way out of my office as Tank was ordering everyone else out of the Comm room.

"I'm coming with you."

Tank heaved a huge sigh as his lecture face slid on.

"Ranger we've had this discussion, you're—"

Frustration peaked in me.

"I'll stay in the fucking van Tank ok? Deal with it. That way, I can keep track of all the teams and the men can concentrate on their job instead of where they are and who they might be shooting."

Tank stared at me for a full minute, his face torn between leaving quickly and my half decent argument.

"Fine. Come. But Rangeman, you're going nowhere near the action, no matter how much you threaten, plead, bribe, extort or torture. The answer is still no."

I nearly rolled my eyes.

"Let's go."

0 0 0

I rode in the back of the surveillance Bronco, strapped into the Head of Communications or HOC (Pronounced Hock) seat. The Bronco was custom designed by Rangeman for these exact conditions—mass hostage or crisis situations where there would be multiple teams heading in for recon, extraction and sometimes simply to kill. We'd had assignments where we'd had a skip or drug dealer or the like wired with so much juice he could have blown up the suburb. In those situations, it was simply best to take a shot at the head, and hope for the best.

The Bronco was equipped with a work bench lining three sides, one wall completely covered with monitors so it could receive video feeds from different vantage points from the scene which would have been placed before or during the situation. There were multiple sets of headphones hanging from the ceiling, able to switch communication frequencies to listen in or communicate with different radios. We could contact each other all the time as well as checking in with the HOC for new information, orders or positions. The HOC kept in contact with all teams through the common frequency, alerting them of emergencies, escapees, hostages, obstacles and other teams.

On the third wall hung different types of guns and extra ammo, as well as housing a box full of extra riot gear, including Kevlar vests, jackets and blankets, shields, helmets, leg and arm guard and the list goes on. There were bottles of water, energy drinks and food in case we ended up in a siege situation (as stupid as it sounds, it's happened once or twice) or the troops got hungry after hours of fighting and a fully fledged medical kit including local anaesthetic, suture needles, gauze and bandages.

All in all when used correctly, the Bronco made us nigh impossible to beat. But then we were all ex-Army guys and had been trained in situations far worse than this. So we were definitely impossible to beat.

I pulled the HOC headphones over my ears and tuned them into the correct frequency, to hear Tank giving last minute information and instructions.

"Gamma team insert through the roller door, Delta through the upstairs window onto the hanging walkway, Alpha with me storming the side door and Beta on standby outside. There are three teams already there which are Bravo, Charlie and Echo as well as a police riot squad. Bravo, Charlie and Echo are already inside engaging the suspect, the riot squad is on support outside. It's quite an operation, so listen to your leader, listen to the HOC and for God's sake, don't shot yourself in the foot before we get in there, we need as many men as possible."

I could hear the snorts of the other teams. A few months ago we had had another big operation like this one with a crazed skip with a gun in a shopping mall. We had issued the regular handguns for short range firing as we had pulled up outside. As soon as the men got out of the SUVs there was a bang and Lester was hopping on one foot, stringing together some very creative expletives. He'd forgotten to flick the safety on. Poor Guy.

I felt the Bronco slide to a stop, and nodded at the two shadowy figures sitting at the other two seats behind me. Together, they locked the back doors of the Bronco with the regular lock, a couple of dead bolts, security chains, fingerprint locks, and a few custom made locks which were impossible to break. To top it off, a sheet of three inch reinforced steel slide from the roof of the car over the back doors and sealed us in, interlocking with hundreds of tiny mechanisms underneath the car.

I adjusted the microphone attached to my headphones and began switching on the monitors, channelling the feeds into them.

"Surveillance van sealed. Delta and Beta good to go in five minutes. Cue final checks. HOC out."

I could almost hear the men outside doing buddy checks, running their eyes over weapons, armour and equipment. I flicked a few switches, checking the audio feeds for the warehouse, checking the signals for each man's "Oh Shit" button (It had been renamed that after Stephanie let it slip once on surveillance. Much merciless teasing ensued), going over the plan and making contact with Bravo, Charlie and Echo teams already fighting inside the warehouse.

Five minutes later everyone was ready to go, and Beta and Delta teams were mobilising to move out. Lester, who was leading Delta, grabbed his semi automatic machine gun and cocked it.

"Lock and load guys!"

Major cliché. It happened every takedown.

Everyone groaned but mimicked his movements, muttering about how good stun gunning Lester sounded at that moment. A minute more and Delta and Beta moved out, ducking under windows to keep hidden from view. I could see Steph with her back pressed against the wall, waiting as the guys gave her the all clear to run across a stretch of open concrete to the next building.

A few more minutes and Gamma and Alpha moved out; both carrying extra ammo, armour and equipment for Bravo, Echo and Charlie inside. Silence over transmission as each team got into position, doing final checks on weapons and working out individual movements and strategies. I watched the feed from inside the warehouse. Things were beginning to get hairy. Pierce was knocking back man after man with flashbang grenades and wildly placed bullets which ricocheted everywhere. Four men were already down out of the three teams already in there, two from Echo and one each from Charlie and Bravo. They would be Alpha's top priority. To get the casualties out first. Then to distribute weapons and ammo to the remaining members.

Finally, the moment came.

"Alpha's good to go."

"Beta check"

"Gamma ready"

"Delta all set. HOC ready?"

I steeled myself, watching the four separate monitors displaying the four teams bouncing on the balls of their feet, their bodies like tightly coiled springs. My eyes lingered on Steph as she hung onto the rope suspending her from the roof outside, her feet poised to jump through the glass of her window. There was a strange tingling in the back of my mind and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. My body was as on edge and highly strung as if I were about to be dropped into the middle of a war zone with nothing but my bootlaces. My sixth sense. Something was going to go wring. I had only ever felt this way once in my life. When I had opened the door of Stephanie's apartment to the barrel of Scrog's gun. I had only ever felt this way when we were in danger. I had only every felt this way when one or other of us were close to death. Too close.

I paused for a second, wondering for a fleeting moment whether I should just call the whole thing off. My eyes came to rest again on the monitor showing Ryan Pierce, the skip, shooting bullets like no tomorrow. No, not this time. This guy had to be taken off the streets. Pierce alive was far more dangerous than Pierce dead.

I closed my eyes for a brief millisecond then opened them again, focus restored.

"All teams insert, insert, insert."

Wild war cries rent the air as adrenaline rushed unchecked through my veins.

Something was going to go terribly wrong.

And I had a sinking feeling this time, that I was not going to be able to fix it.

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The more you review the faster I'll update. When we get up to at least 27 reviews, I'll post the next update yes?

By the way, if anyone knows any other Plum fanfic sites/boards could you send me the URL? Thanks all.

Schaefy


	6. Chapter 6

_Ranger_

_His Last Day_

It's slightly ironic I suppose. There's a saying that goes "There are three things that are certain in Life: birth, death and taxes". Although I suppose the creator was only intending to be facetious, it hit quite a different note with me. Out of the three, Taxes are probably the one that have the most affect on the day to day lives of ordinary people, even if it was simply grumbling each morning about how they had to take the bus because the petrol tax was too high.

But that's for most people.

And I'm not most people.

Death has been the biggest of the three in my life. I'm not afraid of it; in fact, I expect it at least several times per month. Some say I seek it. Through the months and years I spend in God awful hellholes I expect death at any moment. I can feel Death's cold fingers inches from my neck, ready to pull me away from the present. But each time I have managed to escape, each time I have pulled myself through; whether it be lying in a hospital bed with my body ripped to pieces, or in the jungle with a shotgun against my temple. Each time through skill, determination and sheer willpower I have made it through. Because I don't believe in luck.

Much anyway.

It's not luck that makes the executioner with the gun hesitate for a fraction of a second. It's not luck that makes my heart keep beating and my brain functioning.

It's the will to live.

It's the will to survive.

0 0 0

A storm of gunfire roared over the radio as I heard windows shatter and doors smash open as the three teams burst into the warehouse, Gamma through the broken locks of the huge roller door, Alpha through a set of double doors on the side of the warehouse and Delta through the upstairs windows. My heart leapt in my chest as I watched Stephanie smash feet first through her window, and the strange feeling strangled my heart again. It was fear.

I had been in the army for over a decade now, in the Rangers for seven years and never before had I felt fear. I was never afraid for myself even in the direst of circumstances. I was not afraid of death. I was never afraid of the death of my men. Never before had I been afraid, I had never had anything to fear. So why was I afraid now?

I heard the radio blaring in my ear but I could not tear my eyes away from the monitor showing Stephanie pressed against a wall, dodging a spray of bullets before quickly taking aim and firing at her attacker, a wry smile appearing on her face as she hit him. Her marksmanship had improved enormously from intense daily courses with Rangeman's toughest instructor, Bowman, a former Army Officer brought in as a special favour to instruct new trainees on gunmanship. I had been taught by Bowman in my years and had become close friends with him as I moved quickly up the ranks, and also became involved with instructing younger Rangers and SEALs. I had seen him break the hardest and toughest of men, had seen him give the harshest punishments to grown me, yet from the moment he laid eyes on her, I knew he had a soft spot for her. He was always more polite and friendly with her than any of the other men, and coached her more with kind words and encouragement than yelling and insults. As a result of his careful tutoring she was now in the top ten marksmen in Rangeman, and had earned a place on the Top Ten Honour Board for the past eight months. It had made me prouder than ever when again and again on the monthly competition day she had whooped everyone's asses, and had reduced more than one proud employee to inescapable humiliation as they challenged her and time and time again were beaten, and left to the merciless teasing of the rest of the men.

I gazed at her image on the screen in front of me, mesmerised by the beautiful blue eyes staring defiantly out from under her visor as she quickly reloaded her gun as she ran between the rest of her team along the suspended walkway, occasionally taking aim and firing at figures below.

A loud explosion over the headphones jolted me back to the present, each screen showing everyone eating dirt quick as they could. Unit Leaders switched onto their exclusive frequencies and ran checks over their units, making sure equipment was intact and there were no casualties or injuries. Everyone flicked back to the communal frequency and reported their all clears. Shock and adrenaline ran through the veins of everyone as we each watched Pierce from our vantage points.

"Holy fuck…" Lester breathed. "He's got a fucking grenade launcher."

No one spoke for a minute.

Oh shit.

0 0 0

The battle raged on for hours as I watched man after man fall to Pierce's grenade launcher and bullets, and fight it out with Pierce's men, who were renowned for their excellent training in hand to hand combat and marksmanship. I had to contain myself a few times when I saw Steph in a very dangerous position, but she always managed to escape at the last second, bullets slicing through the air after her.

It was late afternoon judging by the light permeating the warehouse, and Pierce was showing no signs of tiring. We had had a few casualties, stray bullets and shrapnel, but mostly the equipment did its job and we avoided injury. Bravo, Echo and Charlie had pulled out after hours of fighting which left Steph's team, Delta, Alpha, Beta and Gamma. Delta was engaging with the enemy on the lowest level, and it was my job to watch over them, and make sure they were ok, and warn them of any unpleasant surprises. I watched as Tank nailed one of Pierces men with a Taser and quickly cuffed him to a pole out of the way before resuming the fight.

Then I heard a cry of pain through my headphones. Dammit, I'd lost her! Where was Steph! I couldn't see her at all on the bank of monitors.

"Steph! Steph! Where are you!" I yelled through the radio. I listened intently, but could only hear static.

"Tank, where's Steph."

"Last I saw she was pinned down in the middle of the room behind some debris Boss. Wait—there—"

I looked up at a monitor in time to see Pierce aiming his Uzi at Steph, who had ducked momentarily out of her cover. My heart rose to my throat as I watched the bullets spray around the desk she was hiding behind, and sharp shrapnel flying everywhere. She gasped and doubled over, clutching her leg. Blood was spurting through even as she held her hands over it, her face contorted in pain.

I couldn't stand it any longer.

With a roar I ripped off my headphones and engaged the emergency release hatch in the roof of the Bronco. Hands tried to hold me as I hoisted myself through it but I kicked them away. I had to get to Steph. I had to get to her now, those wounds were bad and she was in terrible danger if Pierce found out she could not escape him.

Like a lithe panther I jumped from the roof to the ground and hit it running, my feet pounding the concrete as I raced toward the warehouse. The sounds of bursting grenades and machine gun fire were deafening as I reached a small side door and burst through it, immediately dodging a spray of bullets and rolling towards Stephanie. The next second I was next to her, calculating, looking for every possible method of escape. I saw her wide eyes; face pale from blood loss as she clutched her leg in an effort to stem the steady flow of blood which was staining her clothes.

"Men are in place. They are going to shoot in ten seconds. We run for it then. It's risky, so go like stink. I'll cover you." I said.

All I could think of was to get her out of here before anything else happened. I had no idea what I would do if I lost her, so I concentrated everything on getting us out alive. She nodded, but I could see the blood loss starting to affect her concentration. We had to move, now. The situation was becoming more dangerous by the second.

I put my back to the desk to get a look at Pierce, and began the countdown.

5...

The beating of my heart slowed.

4...

My breathing slowed.

3...

Time slowed.

2...

Calm spread over me.

1...

Go.

Gunfire exploded a way away from us and in the brief pause afterwards I grabbed her hand and pulled her behind me, sprinting for the huge roller door that was our best chance. There was no cover but it was the fastest way, and if Pierce was distracted for only a few seconds, we would make it.

No such luck. Halfway to the door there was a mass of gunfire again, aimed straight at us. Time seemed to become super slow as I watched the bullets fly towards us, menacing and dangerous. No. I could not let this happen. Not to her. I loved her too much. At the last second I pushed her to the ground hard, and, after what seemed like an eternity, I dived.

It was never how I had imagined dying, for a loved one. I had always thought I would die in a remote jungle in some god forsaken country on a government mission. Never this way. But somehow, I had no regrets. If I could save her, take the bullets for her, she could live on. My memory would fade in her mind but that would be ok, because she would be happy because she was alive. I would gladly exchange my life, my broken soul that hers, her beautiful soul could live on. It was not her time. Neither was it mine, but I knew she could bring this world so much more joy than I could.

So a sense of peace washed over me as I dived in front of her, shielding her body with my own. And even though my life would end it would not matter. I was not worried. I was not scared. Because I knew I would have her by my side until the very end.

And that was all that mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

_Stephanie_

I awoke to find a strong pair of arms supporting me, carrying me somewhere. I tried to open my eyes but my exhaustion was so severe that it felt like I was trying to lift lead weights. The rocking movement suddenly stopped and I felt myself being lain down on what felt like a bed. I vaguely heard a voice calling to me through the haze.

"Stephanie? Stephanie?"

It sounded worried, as if something terrible was wrong. Had I been able to move my forehead would have creased, but instead I just tried to concentrate enough to realise what it was saying.

"Stephanie? Can you open your eyes honey? Squeeze my hand."

Somehow that seemed a more achievable goal. I tried to wiggle my fingers a bit and felt a strong calloused hand in mine squeeze firmly back.

"That's great Steph. Can you try and open your eyes for me again?"

The voice sounded so comforting and patient that I would have loved to hear its soothing tones next to me forever. What if it left? What if it didn't speak to me anymore? I had to open my eyes, to keep it there, talking to me. With a great effort I cracked an eye, and was relieved that wherever I was had been darkened so as not to blind me.

"That's right Steph, you're doing amazingly." I saw that the speaker was a large figure next to me, obviously sitting on the side of the bed.

"Bobby wants to talk to you for a moment, Beautiful. I'll be right here."

And then his warm hand left mine. I shuddered, feeling the calm it had given me slip away only to be replaced by panic.

"Steph, its Bobby. Don't worry; everything's going to be fine. Can you try and tell me what happened?"

I drew my knees to my chest and hugged them as I tried to remember.

"I... I collapsed." I said, my speech slurring slightly thorough the fog in my brain.

He asked me a few more questions and his light fingers gently probed my skull to see if I had hit it on the way down. I heard his low voice from far away, speaking quietly to someone else.

"I think it's just sleep deprivation and stress. She can't have slept well last night given everything that's happened. I'm going to give her a mild sedative to put her out for a couple of hours. She should be right after that."

My brain was not up to comprehending what it meant, so I just lay there on the bed and let the hushed voices go on undisturbed.

"Steph?" said the same voice, Bobby, I think. "I'm just going to give you something to help you sleep, ok? Just turn your head, that's the girl."

Something pricked my forearm and I winced, my face turned away. Then after a moment or two, my head started to swim again, drowsiness trickling through my veins. In some corner of my brain, I knew I was about to pass out again.

"It's ok Steph, we'll be here. Just relax, sleep. Everything will be ok, I promise."

And with that, my eyes fluttered shut and my breathing lengthened and slowed. I slept.

0 0 0

_Bobby_

I packed up my medical gear quietly as I listened to Steph sleep and made sure she was ok. Lester was leaning against the doorframe, blank-faced, watching her too. I saw his cheeks imperceptibly soften as she whimpered slightly and turned her head, her wild brown curls flaring like a halo around her head. I stood up to leave, but Lester paused for a moment. Hesitating for a moment, he walked to the bed and gently stroked her cheek with his fingertips.

"We're here Bomber, don't worry. We're here."

Then we quietly left the dark apartment, shutting the door behind us. The elevator ride to the fifth floor was a quiet one, both of us wrapped in our own thoughts.

I still couldn't come to grips with what happened. I had never expected to find myself in a world where we weren't a team. Me, Tank, Lester and Ranger. I relied on them, and had relied on them for more years than I cared to remember. We had escaped life-threatening situations as a team more times than I could count. He was one of the three people I trusted my life and my self with, and now that number was whittled to two. We had become blood brothers many years ago on our first mission, and had always treasured that bond beyond all others. I felt like heart had stopped beating the moment his had ceased. I was empty.

Still lost in thought as I walked out of the lift, it took Hal a moment to attract my attention.

"Bobby? Hey, Bobby!" I mentally shook myself and focused on Hal.

"Bobby, Tank's in hospital, he was in a car crash."

Shock coursed through me, forcing everything else aside.

This could not be happening. Not again.

"What's the damage?" I said, hitting Lester to get him to follow and pulling Hal towards the stairs by the front of his shirt.

"Preliminary exams say a possible fractured skull, severe lacerations to the left side of his body, a few minor bone breaks and a broken cheek bone..." He trailed off.

I sighed in relief. At least it wasn't life threatening. Hal saw the lift in my expression. He gulped and wiped his sweating brow, looking as though he wished he were anywhere else. He hadn't told me something. With a growl I shoved him against the wall of the stairwell, arm at his throat.

"What is it." I said, tone icy. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"He has a spinal injury. They don't know anything yet." With a roar I cast him aside and flew down the rest of the stairs, charging into the garage. I couldn't lose another brother. I just couldn't.

0 0 0

"What happened?" I said, grabbing a chart from a nurse and flipping it open.

One of the Doctors cast a wary look at me while unwrapping the blood-soaked bandages around Tanks head.

"Fell asleep at the wheel. Clipped another car and flipped when he smashed into another building. It's a miracle he was the only one injured."

I grabbed a pair of scrubs and pulled them on while another nurse handed me a pair of gloves. The hospital we were in, St Hugh's, sometimes needed an emergency casualty surgeon for major accidents and so on, so they called me. Most of the staff knew me to some degree so I didn't mess around with preliminaries.

"What's his status?"

"Pulse is weak, shallow breathing. Blood pressure ninety over sixty*. We're losing him."

The pulse sounds from the heart monitor were erratic and irregular. I stared at him for a moment, his hulking figure stretched out on the table. How could this have happened?

Then he flat lined. A long continuous beep filled the room as voices raised and people began rushing everywhere.

"I need a crash cart over here—"

"Get me a ventilator!"

"Push two units of epi."

People rushed around me as the sounds began to sound as if through a long tunnel. I froze, unable to look away as the doctor held up the paddles of the defibrillator. I read his lips saying "Clear" as all the personnel moved away from Tank, holding their hands up to show they had stepped away. His body jolted, lifting off the bed as electricity shot through his body. Then he crashed back down and people again swarmed upon him; doctors wielding needles and nurses armed with bandages. It all seemed slow and faint.

Why weren't they moving faster, this man was going to die! I saw the Doctor yell "Clear" and again the body convulsed on the table, a grotesque contortion of the man I had known all my life. Then without quite knowing how I got there, I was at his side, having pushed aside the hospital personnel. His eyes, slightly open, seemed to stare at me as if imploring me to do something, to save him. I gripped his hand as the long beep rang in my ears, making me deaf to all other sound. I couldn't do this, he couldn't die!

But it rang on seemingly endlessly, long after the tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

Long after I gave up hope.


	8. Chapter 8: Waking Dreams

Chapter 7

Waking Dreams

_A few days later..._

_Stephanie_

I had never before realised how hard waking up could be. I had always found it difficult to get myself up for early mornings, like anybody else. There'd been more alarm clocks smashed from fits of sleep-induced annoyance than I care to admit, and anyone can tell you that I'm a bitch to wake up.

But I guess this just brought it to a whole other level. I spend my days in his apartment, blinds closed, lights off, the covers of his bed pulled tight over my head. I lay there at night, longing for sleep, for the escape it would bring me from the pain. Sleep became for me the Holy Grail, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; always just out of reach. For the few hours I snatched my mind relaxed, the bonds of my grief loosening as I salvaged what little respite I could from it. My world had receded to this. The here. The now. The pain. It had shrunk to this room, his room. I could still smell his scent on the pillows, though it was getting fainter. I clung to it as if it were my lifeline, the last reminder of him I had. I lay there, unmoving, unthinking, blind to everything but the ache in my chest where my heart had been before... before it had been ripped out. I was choking with tears, my chest heaving for breath as I struggled to control the wracking sobs that left my body weak.

Each time the phone rang I let it go, so numb that I could not even reach over to pick it up had I wanted to. Each time the knock on the door sounded, each ring of my mobile, each voice pleading from outside seemed distant, so far away I couldn't quite make sense of it. I could hear them well enough, but it seemed like although my mind wanted nothing more than to reach out to those tendrils of comfort, something held me back. Like my body refused to do what my mind so dearly wished for. So with each knock, each ring, each plea the pain redoubled; reminders of a relief I could not receive. It felt as if I were yelling so loud; so, so loud, but no one could hear me. I was calling, screaming for help, for someone who would pull me from the water, who'd stop me from drowning.

But no one came. The phone would stop ringing. The knocks, would stop coming. The voices receding into the depths of another reality it seemed I couldn't fathom anymore. But the worst part. The absolute worst part was the small tendril of hope in my heart that had dared to grow for that brief moment when rescue was possible, when that hope disappeared. As the tendril died, and I again became numb.

I'd lost my appetite since... since it happened. I had not eaten in days, but I didn't feel hungry. I knew I was losing weight, vaguely, in the back of my mind. But it didn't seem to matter very much. In fact, nothing seemed to really matter. Time seemed to pass at irregular speeds, sometimes so fast I never knew where the hours had gone, sometimes so slow that I wondered whether the world had stopped turning for a while. It didn't seem to matter very much.

The knocking at the door had started again, but I just rolled over, too tired from the tears which had not stopped falling in hours. Garbled words fell into my ears but still I didn't notice.

"Stephanie... you in there....worried... there for days... open the door..."

I didn't notice when the front door crashed open. Or when footsteps pounded down the hall towards the room, a loud voice yelling my name.

I didn't notice as the door to the room was also flung open, two men running into the room as they saw me lying on the bed. As one knelt beside my head I could feel the other taking my vital signs.

I didn't notice. All I noticed was a warm hand as it enveloped mine, squeezing gently. A rough hand gently stroked the length of my cheek.

A murmur, so quiet, only I could hear it.

"Mi Amor. I'm here."

_Bobby_

I felt myself drift slowly toward consciousness, distinctly aware as the haze gradually cleared that it was somewhere I didn't want to be. The hard hospital chair I was sleeping on had cramped my neck painfully, the leg I had draped over the chair numb. Breathing a deep sigh I pulled myself into a sitting position, slumping forward, head in hands. I was conscious now of the long nights of little respite and the longer days of anxiety. I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes as sounds started to slowly filter into my brain. Steady breathing filled the room, matched by a faster and equally constant beeping. I could hear nurses traversing the corridor outside, attending both patients and families. Someone outside was crying, the hushed tones of their comforter barely audible over the sobs.

Sighing, I opened my bleary eyes and looked about the room. It looked just the same as the other thousand times I had done so; the drab white paint chipped and cracked in places, the floor of white flecked linoleum, faded from years of scrubbing. On the bed lay Tank, breathing on his own now for the first time in days. The left side of his face was puffed and bloody, the bruises turning a purple yellow now as they extended over his features. His head was wrapped in a turban of bandages that were stained slightly as a little blood seeped through from the wound he'd received when he smashed his head into the side window. His right hand had been crushed as the door had crumpled upon him, but reconstructive surgery had Doctors tentatively confident. He was pale, well, pale for Tank. And he was yet to regain consciousness.

It had been a tough few days. Lester and some of the men had been taking care of the company; flying in some execs from Boston and Atlanta to help manage the Trenton sector until... well. Until something happened.


	9. Chapter 9: Indecision

_Lester_

I sighed and scrubbed my hands over my eyes, feeling as if I could fall asleep in a second if I dared to let them close.

"It's the best way, Bobby." I said, looking down at the pale face that lay on the pillow. It was clear she had not been looking after herself properly, and I wasn't quite ready to wonder whether it was because she physically couldn't... or wouldn't.

"Look at her. She's incapable of looking after herself and you know it. Staying in his room, wearing his clothes, it's simply a reminder of everything that isn't there for her anymore. She needs to grieve and I understand that, but I think now that she has for a while; she should get the chance to try and recover from it. She'll never get over it if she doesn't distance herself a little more; allow time to pass until she can deal with it again. I'm not saying we should pretend it never happened, nothing like that. Simply that having him shoved in her face all day isn't going to be beneficial now. It's just going to hurt her more."

Bobby fidgeted with a hole in the threadbare covering of the chair he was sitting on. His brow was furrowed as if he were thinking hard, trying to judge whether this would be the right thing for Stephanie.

"I can be there for her all the time in a way no one can when we're at Rangeman. Let the boys from Atlanta and Boston run things for a while until we get back on our feet. They can handle it, and you know it. Let's take a break. Take stock of everything. Try to heal the last wound before chancing another."

I could see I was convincing him. Since Ranger's death and Tank's accident, Bobby and I had been flat out trying to sort everything out for the company, do four peoples jobs between us, looking after Stephanie and keeping watch on Tank. We were exhausted and overworked, and I know I hadn't even started to deal with the things that had happened yet. The longer I waited and put it off, the worse it would be when I finally did get around to it.

Finally, Bobby nodded.

"You're right. It's the best thing. What about Tank though? We're not going to leave him in Trenton, especially now given the state he's in."

This was a problem that had been worrying me. We'd had no definite diagnosis of Tank's spinal injuries because the scans hadn't come through yet. If the injury was serious we'd be grounded in Trenton for a while yet. I hadn't even tried to contemplate what some of the consequences of the injury might be. Like whether he'd still be able to walk.

I could tell my face had fallen by the look on Bobby's face.

"You're right. It's a problem."

We sat in silence for a while, wrapped in our own thoughts until Bobby's phone buzz.

"Brown." He answered tersely. He sat up slightly as the caller identified himself.

"Doctor Wyatt, it's nice to hear from you. You have the results I take it?" I sat up too, gripping the arms of my chair. If it wasn't good news...well. I had no idea how we would get through it. Physical disability is both a huge shock and a blow to anyone, but I didn't know how men like us would fare. We'd built our lives on being physically mobile, on being in the field. I gathered my thoughts. There was no use jumping to conclusions.

"Yes Doctor... Yes... I understand. Is that confirmed?" He glanced at me, but as usual, I could read nothing from his expression. I fidgeted in my seat, desperate to hear what was being said.

"Thank you Doctor. I'll be in tomorrow to discuss the next step." Bobby snapped his phone shut. Staring unseeingly at it as it lay in his palm.

"Well?!" I burst out, still clueless.

He looked up, grinning.

"Tank will be fine. They were worried about him seeming to be unresponsive in his legs for a while, but the scan shows his spine is fine. It's just a bit of residual swelling around the cord which is causing the paralysis. They're easing him off the sedation right now and he should be waking up tomorrow, and if we're lucky, the anti-inflammatory drugs they're going to give him will clear up the swelling within a week or so. He'll need physical therapy for a while to repair the muscles around his spine that were damaged—that was what caused the swelling."

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Hi everyone,

Just a couple of things!

I'm really sorry this chapter is so short. But I'm tired, I've got a really early morning tomorrow and my writing is crap tonight, so I don't want to do any more damage than I've already done.

Yes I have SORT OF returned to this story. I just really felt like writing the other night (and tonight I guess...) so I figured I'd update. No I haven't given up on you all! Even when I don't update for like 6 months.

I will eventually get back to writing properly. I'm in my final year of school at the moment, so things are ridiculously busy at the moment. But don't give up on me! In the words of Terminator (of course in the outlandish accent) "I'LL BE BACK." I just felt like saying that. Anyway.

Thank you all for being so patient with me a please **keep the reviews coming!!**

**More reviews = more writing!**

Trust me!

Thanks everyone, and I hope you enjoy the story

Schaefy


	10. Chapter 10: Run

Thanks for your patience and sorry for the wait (and the short chapter)—I'm having a pretty bad time at the moment. Just really busy and stressed out.

Schaefy

0 0 0

_Stephanie_

_A few weeks later..._

I let the salty air blowing in from the open window brush back my hair until it was streaming behind me, the sunlight glimmering off the turquoise blue of the ocean below me. It was lovely to feel the sun on my skin after months of muggy but somehow unsatisfying Trenton summer. I was relaxed in the back seat of the large Bronco with all the windows open, the stereo playing a lively salsa beat as Tank slept off his meds next to me, Bobby turned a page in his book and Lester drove. I was calmer than I had been in weeks as we sailed down the Overseas Highway, letting my eyes close as I relished escaping Trenton for a while with the guys.

It seemed so normal. Bobby turned another page, Tank snored and Lester sung a quiet harmony in Spanish to the song that was playing as he drove. Only me, someone who knew the truth, could see as Bobby stared at the same point on his page for awhile, a shadow of sadness crossed his face, or Tank sighed, his face clenched in pain for a moment. Lester seemed to be coping better though, more clearheaded. It was Lester that had suggested that we head off somewhere to get away for a while, and Lester that had proposed Key West. He had spent his childhood on the Keys, and promised that they were every bit as good as the photos. We sped along the road as the sea stretched limitlessly either side of us and the sun glinted off it. It reminded me of my own childhood, of summers spent in the blistering heat of Point Pleasant. The warm roughness of the boardwalk next to the beach under my toes, the salty air rolling off the waves, the fine pale sand as it trickled through my fingers as time seemed to be now. Carefree days when nothing seemed to matter very much, and every day was a new chance at happiness in a long line of chances. I stared at the water washing gently onto the east side of the Key, not really feeling anything. It was almost like I could remember old feelings, but I couldn't seem to feel anything now. I was sort of numb, introverted, going through the motions of an existence that had seemed to have lost its meaning for me. I'd lost myself somewhere; and, as we sped away from everything that had been my life, I worried I wouldn't be able to find it again.

0 0 0

_Lester_

We arrived at our hotel mid afternoon, a quaint white washed building in classic Spanish style which sat opposite the beach. It was owned by some old family friends of mine who had bought it when I had lived on Key West, an elderly couple now who had become the grandparents I never had. The bright red flowers still shone from the window boxes just as I remembered, waving slightly in the ocean spray. The roughly plastered walls were the same bright white, as were the curved cast iron railings on the small balconies.

I parked the Bronco in a space in front of the building, got out and took a moment to inhale the salty air, and let the memories flow through me. Sandcastles I had built with my brothers, splashing fights and exploring long stretches of beach, imagining ourselves to be pioneering explorers in a foreign land.

"Mi hijo!" A smile spread over my face as I opened my eyes, though I didn't need to look see who it was. An elderly couple were standing on the doorstep, waving furiously at me with grins as wide as mine. A plump, wrinkled woman with skin dark from years of work and sun greeted me in Spanish, pulling me close as soon as I got within arm's length.

"It has been too long!" She said, hugging me tightly. "Why do you never come to see me, eh? You working too hard!"

I grinned at her gentle chastisement, feeling like I was six years old again.

"Lo Siento Abuela, It's been a little crazy in Trenton."

"Ah, but you have come home now," she said, her eyes crinkling as she smiled blissfully at me. I looked from her smiling face to that of the old man next to her, seeing his familiar toothless grin.

"Tio Emilio, ¿Cómo estás?"

"Ah, my son. It is so good to have you back." He said, stretching out his hand for a heartfelt handshake, eyes both soft and welcoming, just as I remembered.

"Tio Emilio, Abuela, this is Stephanie, Tank and Bobby."

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A few minutes later our bags were stored upstairs and we were all sitting in the tiny kitchen of their house which adjoined the Hotel. I watched as Abuela fussed over everyone, somehow managing to squeeze between the men, Stephanie, Tio Emilio and the table we were sitting around; getting plates of biscuits, pouring coffee and a cutting huge flan for us to serve. The afternoon sun shone through the open double doors next to us, accompanying a sea breeze that felt as familiar to me as breathing; bringing with it a calmness that had eluded me since Ranger had been shot. I saw it working its magic on the others too; the subtle relaxation of the shoulders to become less hunched, the fading of brooding expressions and even some smiles. As Emilio and Abuela chatted incessantly with Bobby and Tank I remained quiet, watching.

Stephanie had been quiet of late...well, even quieter than the norm after it happened. She was distinctly thinner, cheeks hollowed, limbs more slight. But most noticeable of all were her eyes. They were always cast down, never making contact with others; hiding whatever Stephanie was afraid to show the rest of us. Blank and emotionless, they were a far cry from the fire of resilience and passion for life that usually burned in them. They never seemed to sparkle any more, despite however hard I tried to make her laugh. I'd spent most of my days, of late, finding excuses to be near her; getting her coffee so I could sit with her or asking for her help just to keep her close. I watched her critically, minutely for the signs of a depression that went beyond grief, and its manifestations.

The sun was low when I finally wandered outside, full of Abuela's fabulous dinner, and too tempted by the smell of the ocean wafting through the open windows and the warm sand to remain inside. The sun was setting across the ocean as I stepped onto the beach opposite the house, casting red light across the water and turning the clouds shades of pinks and oranges that seemed to intensify every time I looked. I walked along the beach for a while, the warm water washing over my feet, the wind lifting my open shirt. I don't know what it is about Key West, but it never failed to help me to centre myself again. I used to go there after every mission, even just for a few days, to debrief and process everything I had gone through over the past days or weeks.

Glancing up briefly I saw Stephanie sitting a few feet away, absentmindedly picking up a handful of sand only to watch it trickle through her fingers. Her eyes were so sad, her figure so small and fragile that all I wanted to do at that moment was scoop her up and protect her from all the hurt, to take it all on myself and save her from the grief that was tearing her apart.

Quietly, I sat down next to her just as the sun dipped below the horizon, gently putting my arm around her shoulders and gathering her into me. I could feel the tears on her cheeks as she tucked her head into my shoulder, happy just to allow her to let go.


End file.
